Tradition of Poetry
by nekobaba
Summary: IshixIchi. Uryuu has made up his mind about Ryuuken's ultimatum. He didn't think his decision would matter this much to anyone else. Intended as a sequel to "In Your Head" and also "Kitchen". Thanks in advance for any comments and feedback ;D
1. Chapter 1

Title: Tradition of Poetry

Pairing: Uryuu x Ichigo

Summary: Events after Uryuu decides to go with Ryuuken's ultimatum.

A/N: Intended as a sequel to "In Your Head".

--

There isn't much time left, between school, homework and sleep. Not much time before an ally returns to being an enemy.

Which is really a good thing – it means few idle moments for the mind to dwell on events of the past few months, as it is wont to do, when there are unresolved issues.

He refuses to give leeway to the slippery intangible called sentiment. There is nothing more shameful than having _that_ contaminate his thoughts on something this important. Ishida Uryuu takes pride in the fact his decisions are sound and based on painstakingly laid foundations of logic and rational thinking.

He heads off to the library. Today's assignment is on the tradition of poetry. He needs to gather more readings.

Somewhere in the literature section, he fails to dodge fast enough – how he wishes he still retained the lightning speed of his reflexes – and Ichigo corners him, with an almost predatorial intent.

"You've been ignoring me." Ichigo accuses. Uryuu glances away to the side. Ah, look where we are – right smack in the section of the haiku masters.

"Don't tell me it's your time of the month," Ichigo snarls.

Uryuu bites back a sarcastic retort. Being around Ichigo makes him fall into these patterns of defensive responses – strangely comforting in how it affirms a type of normalcy between them.

But now, there must not be any more of this familiarity. Uryuu ignores the taunt. Turning his attention to the bookshelf beside him, he makes sure to take his time to pick off a few choice volumes.

"Communicate, dammit!"

At the nearby tables, heads turn disapprovingly in their direction. Uryuu gives Ichigo a level look and points to the overhead sign – "Silence please". He tucks the books under his arm and walks towards the private study rooms.

"You know me this much now. Think you can just walk away?" So sharp, it feels like a stab and makes the back of Uryuu's neck tighten.

_I certainly can. Can you?_

Uryuu opens the door to the private study room and enters. As he expects, Ichigo catches up and barges in before the door swings shut.

"I want a good explanation." Ichigo brushes past brusquely.

Uryuu gently turns the lock and Ichigo plants himself in the only chair in the tiny room. Now it looks like no homework will get done today.

"I am going out of town for a few days," Uryuu says softly as he sets the pile of hardbacks down on the table. "You won't hear from me."

"Like I would buy that." Ichigo hooks an elbow over the back of the chair, prepared for this to be long and drawn out. "What the fuck is going on."

_What the fuck does the future hold?_ is what Uryuu wants to ask. Instead he swallows his words. The debate that would ensue would just be a waste of time. The way ahead was too full of uncertainty. One thing was certain though -- he would not even die a Quincy if he fails to carry through.

"Nothing. Don't presume just because I spent that night over with you, there's something going on ..."

Ichigo leaps out of the chair and grabs Uryuu by the collar. A direct lunging attack that he should have easily sidestepped. He tries to pry Ichigo off, and backs away hard into the desk. Ichigo grabs his wrists and shoves him face down on the tabletop.

The slim volume at the top of the stack slides off and clatters open somewhere near his face. His glasses are only slightly askew – and he sees clearly, the sparse words that leap out at him, stark against the yellowed paper:

_Awakened at midnight__  
__by the sound of the water jar__  
__cracking from the ice_

_(Basho_, trans. Hamill)


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Pinned down to the desk with half the wind knocked out of him, Uryuu forces himself to breathe and assess his options.

He can't move his hands. Damn, that grip is just too strong. Ichigo is pressing down hard on his shoulder, jamming his neck at an awkward angle. That smartass has kicked his feet too far apart for any leverage.

He falls yet again to something too common to acknowledge. In this violent instance of contact, Uryuu relives that moment not so long ago, when they had clung to each other desperately, unencumbered by the fabric of mutual distrust and eventually most of their clothes. Ichigo had been driven to confront him with something brighter and more magnificent.

The hard edge of the table juts into him, almost too near to his groin for comfort, as if to divide his resolve so suddenly and neatly into two opposing halves of rational thought and all that troublesome sentiment.

Ichigo's breath fans hot and urgent on Uryuu's neck. "What did you think we were, huh. Do you just let anyone touch you like that? I didn't force you. You could have left, but you stayed … "

Uryuu shuts his eyes. This is why he wanted to avoid Ichigo – all flesh and sinew and hot-blooded youth, a warm solid physical presence that is much too easy to get drunk on.

Feeling Ichigo this close is making him crumble like a sandbank under the rising tide. But letting him get this close – perhaps he did not have that much iron will in him after all? Kurosaki Ichigo – he'd have to hand it to the guy – he'll sweep you along if you're not careful.

"So I did," Uryuu says in a tone as flat as the cool formica top of the desk under his cheek. "And yes, I forgot to thank you. I had a good time. Then I think you did too."

"Cut the crap," Ichigo's voice cracks. Laboured and hoarse, it grates on him like the edge of a shovel that has broken itself, digging into somewhere deep and painful. "We went through so much. We fought together. You ... I don't know … all this time, nobody else sees you like I do …"

"Don't get all high and mighty with me now, Ichigo. You're not my saviour," Uryuu hisses. He can smell a bridge burning. That prickling sensation may be because he is dancing so close to flames.

"I'm not trying to be anyone's saviour. I did what I did because ... I took you for a … friend, you bitch."

And it was as far as either of them would dare to go. The rising heat in his face tells him, the brightness of all that Ichigo is _almost_ laying bare for him to see – the shameful, ball-shrinking truth – both of them might just go blind from looking directly at it.

"Friend? That's just an illusion." Uryuu chuckles bitterly. That gleam of truth darts briefly across the foreground of their collective consciousness and disappears under the sand of spoken words.

Uryuu feels his own voice resonate strangely through the wood of the old desk into his body. "We are born alone, we will die alone. You can't change that."

Ichigo falls silent.

"Now, what is it you really want? Or what is it your hollow wants? Manhandling me like this … "

"Shut up, Uryuu. Do you really think you know what it is like? You really don't get it, what you mean – "

"I _know_ what it is. I've seen the Hollow. Even spoke to it."

The pressure on Uryuu's neck eases off a fraction. The measure of only how much Ichigo really knows about his Hollow.

"What … what did it say to you?" Ichigo's whisper barely reaches him.

"Let's just say, it was nasty," Uryuu shudders a little. "Perhaps this is just what your hollow likes? To pin me down like this … "

Ichigo jerks Uryuu up a millimetre and grinds him back down into the desk.

"Shut the fuck up! I am not the hollow, it is not me!"

Uryuu winces at a sharp pain in his shoulder; he cannot afford to lose any more fitness points before tomorrow. He seizes the opening.

"It feeds on your experiences, Ichigo. And it uses them for its own benefit. You think it might take control of you one day? Let's just say it already has."

"What you say, what you do, what you think – you don't know what you're feeding it. It feels every bit of pleasure, every bit of pain – right down to the smallest details. It reveals itself to me, even without your knowing, imagine what else it can do."

Where is that ugly thing now? Hiding in some mental recess, eavesdropping, perhaps screeching in amusement? Pressed down on the desk, Uryuu cannot see anything, apart from the few yellowing pages from an old book, wavering just ever so slightly in the draft of Ichigo's barely reined-in reiatsu which roils like an angry sea.

The strong hands holding his wrists eventually slide away. Ichigo heaves a few wobbly sighs, and Uryuu feels him rest his forehead down – a patch of fevered warmth through the starched cotton of his school shirt on his back.

Uryuu feels it move away as he presses himself upright. He resets his glasses with care. "You need help. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"Shit, I should know. I should know so damn well." Ichigo presses a hand over his eye. "There's something I gotta to do," he muttered.

"Don't let me stop you," Uryuu flexes his fingers and checks his wrists.

"Sorry about that," Ichigo offers, hand on the door handle. "Urahara's?"

"No, I've got all this," Uryuu motions to the books, rotating his right arm to unkink the shoulder.

He feels broken somewhere. Definitely miscalculated. Emotions have mass and occupy space. Also, they didn't teach you in school how they could expand indefinitely.

Perhaps, this is just as well to get Kurosaki off his back. The world really does not need his hollow on the loose.

These are times we have to fight our demons alone. And nobody, friend or kin can save us. Well, he might die tomorrow, by Ryuuken's hands. It may be shocking to modern society, but it isn't new – a father willing to sacrifice the blood of a son; even the Abram of old went that far.

Well, at least he has a hand in the gamble. It is exhilarating, like standing at the edge of hell.

END


End file.
